Thursday, August 17, 2006

Toe tale

Crazy Train (of thought)

Let me ask the obvious question – if you are claustrophobic, what the hell are you doing flying coach on an international flight?

I think Linley is scamming me. I buy all the stuff she wants for breakfast, and then I give her money to buy snacks from the school commissary. She leaves the house with money in hand but having eaten only half her breakfast. Then, “coincidentally,” we pass a Chick-fil-a on the way to school; exactly the place where she suddenly goes into convulsions and exclaims she is starving. Of course she can’t spend the money I gave her to buy her breakfast, because that is “school money.”

As I walked though Jill’s classroom I saw several photos on a bookshelf and strode over to have a closer look. There was a black and white one of the girls in a plain brown frame, a black and white one of me in an even more boring black frame, and then a life-size color portrait of Princess in a large pink frame adorned with a silver crown on top. Who is surprised?

Irony is when you ridicule your last partner for being underemployed, and then later, your new partner is unemployed and unmotivated to do anything about it. Karma is then when your last partner becomes better off than you, and you can’t do anything about it. Sweet is when irony and karma are on your side.

Speaking of Karma, I was taking the recycle bin to the curb in my bare feet when it slipped and a magnum wine bottle fell out and landed nose down on my little toe. It hurt all the way to my molars. Must be something I said.

Marital Bliss

Jill is adjusting to her new life as head of the classroom – new students, new rules and procedures, too little time. She came home a bit stressed and after unloading, having dinner and a drink, she said to me, “I’m so glad I have you to come home to.” Such sweet words almost make babysitting that dog worthwhile.


Last night was our weekly parent-child night out; Jill and Linley went one way, Meagan and I went another. We shared a bowl of lobster bisque and each had a salad, and then we just talked. It’s funny how conversations between parent and child change over the years – once about how things work, word games, coloring the kid’s menu and such other little child stuff, and now coordinating weekend calendars, planning which courses to take to get into college, boy issues, part-time jobs and other topics of a maturing adult. But you know, no matter what we talk about, sometimes I can’t help but look across the table and see my three-year-old Meagan, blonde hair waving, one leg shaking and blue eyes dancing. Little girls. They really get to you.

No comments: